


Have You

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 07:20:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being reunited turns promise into something tangible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Have You

## Have You

by Cinel Durant

These characters belong to PetFly Productions and UPN. The adoration is mine.

With much thanks to Anne, MacG, and Diana for the betas. Comments welcome at cineld@yahoo.com

This story is a sequel to: [Miss You](1_2000_firsts/missyou.)

* * *

Jim settled into his seat easily as a wealth of activity continued around him. Four days and three not-so-glorious nights in one of California's most picturesque cities, and his time in San Francisco was done. Simon would be pleased at the progress on the task force, even more than he had been at Jim's suggestion that they could cripple certain illegal goods pipelines by coordinating a multi-jurisdictional effort. 

Jim was himself pleased that it had all come together so soon. Might even have been happy for the opportunity to represent his department with their neighbors to the south, if not for what had happened just before he'd left Cascade. That wonderful, life-altering, and even gleeful few minutes in the loft. 

He filtered out the myriad sounds around him and floated back to that hour. 

The only surprise had been that Blair had actually admitted a truth that Jim had known for a long time. Over the years they'd been together, 'together' was how Jim had come to think of them. It was true in more ways than not, except for one way. It was nothing but a dream in one particular sense. A quiet hope--that's how he had thought of it. 

Since the moment he'd looked down upon Blair on the balcony after their return from Peru, he'd waited for that truth to become more than Blair could silently hold. That was part of his hope, too, a certainty that he was not the only one, that he and Blair were sharing a dream, even if Blair didn't think there was any future in it. So Jim waited and watched and alternated between some kind of wicked anxiety and stupid happiness, standing by as Blair was drawn to him more and more, drawn to him in ways that could only mean a love deeper than mere friendship. 

There had been other separations, or times when they went weeks without seeing much of each other. At first it was 'hey, how've you been?' but that casualness had eventually been replaced by more involved reunions. Quiet, unspoken time at home when they were glad to touch base. To catch each other up on the goings-on, to, more surreptitiously, make sure that all was right in the world of the other, and nothing significant had shaken either of their composures, or expectations, or worldviews while the other was otherwise occupied. 

The first time Jim noticed a change, he mistook it for something more mundane. Hovering wasn't really his style, but only a complete, and downright invasive, use of his senses had convinced him that nothing was wrong with his roommate. His first concern, that Blair was sick, had been easily disproved, yet there Blair had been, holed up at home, not even totally dressed. Damn near . . . nesting. 

Well, definitely nesting. And it happened again, as in repeatedly and on Sundays. Then just as Jim began to get used to thinking of this phenomenon as normal, it shifted from Blair and Sundays to Blair refusing to let anything intrude on these Sundays. And the other component, of course, was Jim. Blair and Sundays and Jim--like vines naturally intertwined. 

Sunday mornings had long been sacred time for the detective, time he spent at home with the paper and an indulgent breakfast that could only be contained in multiple dishes. Blair called it his 'multiple-starch barrage,' Jim recalled fondly. While he might get called in on Saturday evenings from time to time, even the wee hours of Sunday morning, he was nearly always home again in time to catch the soothing glow of the sun, or the later more mellowed beams of full morning as they broke across the loft the way they did between nine and noon. 

But Blair and Sundays, that was a sweet difference Jim was prepared to embrace. When he actually noticed how protective Blair was of their Sundays, the recognition came with the realization that Blair had been easily and smoothly deflecting other commitments for at least several weeks. It struck Jim that for every time he knew of, there had to be instances he hadn't overheard. Teasing aside, he really didn't think his roommate's social life consisted of shallow conquest after shallow conquest. But hell, the fact that Sandburg was an open and adoring fan of the opposite sex was obvious. So the day Blair let the answering machine take a call instead of breaking off a conversation with Jim--that had raised new possibilities, to Jim's mind. Especially when Blair didn't even blink at the sweet tones of the female voice that was exhorting him to take a break and join a group at The Gallery, a popular eatery in town. 

He'd wanted to ask about it, but didn't dare risk being the one who let the conversational thread drop. If Blair could ignore her, Jim would too. But he was itching to ask Blair _something_ , knowing of Blair's interest in the woman. Instead, Jim had camouflaged his curiosity with a look of interest as Blair finished telling him a bizarre story about a student of his, a sighting in a parking garage, and a stack of missing blue books. A case of 'all's well that end's well,' Jim hadn't had to feign interest at all, waiting for an indication that Blair was truly okay and getting it when the student turned out to be one of Blair's, but the blue books turned out to be Sociology's and not Anthropology's. 

Jim wasn't expecting anything, just more conversation. But Blair had finished his tale and then dropped his eyes for a second. Voice softer, he said, "I'd rather stay home with you. It's been a long week, you know?" 

Sure Jim had known. He'd been drawing from Blair's strength since their first meeting. Quiet, uncomplicated downtime was just another way of doing the same thing. And when he just smiled and nodded at Blair, that easy admission as telling as anything else, Sundays were changed forever. Not because Jim began to see his roommate differently -- that had been going on for several months, double digits worth of months -- but because Jim knew with a lovely certainty that the same thing had finally happened to Blair. 

There'd been other moments, other times when Jim had said things Blair might respond to, but he hadn't, and that had been all right, too. Every time Jim gave some part of himself away and Blair didn't balk or reject the gift, those small steps heartened Jim, and the easy candor between them cemented another part of their shared landscape. Like Jim's patience, his confidence, and other moments to savor and patterns to contemplate. Like when Sunday mornings had become only for each other, or when Blair had started dusting not only the apartment but also his bedroom. 

Or Incacha. 

Someone else might have been upset, insulted, or at least unsettled by what had happened between Blair and Incacha. But Jim had been handed love, handed out of the care of a man he trusted like no other and into the care of a man he'd always love like no other. A natural order at work, and seamlessly. 

Even if he hadn't already loved Blair, the dynamic would have been impossible for Incacha to overlook. An undeniable curiosity had come over him in those first moments of meeting Blair, and it never occurred to Jim to hide his feelings from the warrior. He simply hadn't wanted to. Doing so would frankly dishonor much of what he'd learned while amongst the Chopec, not the least of which was that every man needed someone he didn't need to keep things from. That pure honesty came with complications, was anything but easy, but the ensuing peace was its own reward. Jim had spent a lot of years without that peace, but he had it now with Blair. 

He opened his eyes long enough to turn down lunch from the flight attendant before closing them again. He nearly smiled to himself at the thought, once again, that it had been smart to get the window seat. Several rows above the wing and in an exit row, he was comfortably enjoying the extra legroom, and easily filtering out the hubbub closer to the aisle. Although he didn't even need easy when it came to thinking about Blair. After four days away and little time to himself, it was a simple pleasure to indulge in uninterrupted contemplation about the object of his love. 

It had hung over him like a promise since the moment he'd shut the door to the loft. He hadn't been trying to do anything but concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, think of anything but leaving Blair, but he'd heard Blair's last words anyway, and known them for the subconscious utterance they were. Three words. Nothing, it seemed, was entirely one-sided. 

For the first time since he'd been away, Jim let himself live in that instant again, the sound of his name on Blair's lips with a tenderness that had never been there before. What had been different this time, Jim didn't know. Whatever had led Blair to admit his loneliness could remain unnamed for all the affect it had on Jim's gratitude. Once he'd been given the opening, it was as easy as looking in those welcoming blue eyes to say what was on his mind. 

Remembering Blair's reaction - astonishment, so much for observing - was sweet. All Jim had done was remind them both of all the ways in which their lives were entangled, but more importantly, that Jim wanted the entanglement, wanted Blair, wanted _more_ with Blair. 

Just as Jim thought he registered the squawk of the P.A. and a word here or there about descent, he remembered the way Blair tasted, and the heady combination of that flavor swirled with warmth, desire, and all that simmered in the air between them. 

The wheels touched with a slight bounce, and the jolt was actually welcome. Jim had gone as far as he dared for the moment, but the memory was tenacious, and he didn't have the resolve to completely push it away. It felt too...alive. Grinning to himself, Jim could think of only one thing -- home to the best future a man could have. 

Deplaning, baggage, the parking garage. A time-stamped ticket exactly where he'd left it, and the luck of the draw -- for once the shortest cashier line was actually the fastest. Thirty uneventful minutes and he'd cleared the bulk of the traffic. Ten minutes more and he hit Prospect. Another fifteen to reach home. 

Jim clicked the items and events off routinely. Outwardly, he was a man going about his business: steady, reserved, calm. His movements were smooth and economical, his pace unhurried. First one thing then the other, and another, until he was where he needed to be. He was the only one who could possibly know how badly he wanted to be home. Even though Blair wouldn't be there for hours yet, traces of Blair would be there. And it was home. Their home. His things, Blair's things. The warm, personal scent of his roommate. A residual tinge of the chemical infusion they'd created in the few seconds before Jim's departure. He'd have time to bask in that enhanced sensation. It would be his for the shameless claiming and the anticipation was singing throughout his every cell. 

Checking the time, Jim envisioned Blair sliding into his seat for the lecture that was the reason Jim had driven to the airport in the first place instead of availing himself of the Sandburg limousine service. He saw slightly nervous hands rubbing up and down Blair's legs, heard the deep breaths that Blair would use to focus on the speaker and not his eagerness to see Jim. In Jim's fantasy, Blair succeeded only partly, a current of possibility and need burning through him despite his efforts to pay attention to the visiting professor. 

Once on the other side of the door, Jim drew a deep, deliberate breath. It was so good to be back in the midst of...Blair. But the imprint faded as he realized something else was pushing it out of the way, like the fact that he'd parked his truck next to the Volvo. Blair was there. No waiting, now. He closed his eyes and extended his hearing as he filtered out everything else, including a stray thought about how he'd missed seeing Blair's car when it was supposed to be on campus. 

He heard so much: footsteps, the movement of air, at least one shaky breath, and then his name. 

"Jim. You're home." 

It was going to be Jim's line, but it worked for both of them. 

"You, too." Jim slid his keys in the basket without taking his eyes off of Blair. He looked good. "Lecture cancelled?" 

"No." Jim smiled, waiting. "You were coming home. I could sit through the lecture, or I could miss you two hours less." 

"Then what are you doing all the way over there, Chief? And don't tell me you're not sure how to greet me." 

"I'm sure. Are you?" 

Jim stepped a little further into the room and opened his arms. "What do you think?" He asked huskily, the words barely out before Blair slid close. 

"That absence makes the heart grow fonder?" 

Jim didn't miss the wistfulness, but he brushed it aside. "Any fonder, Chief, and we're going to bust." 

"Kiss me?" It was said the wrong way, asked but tentatively. It felt that way, too, ending on a sigh, "...You." 

All Jim's levity drained away. Tension, no mistaking it. First an inkling, then a flood. Without a word, Jim ran his hands over Blair, pressing him closer. The sigh worried him, and there was something in the grip, something a little too threatened. Jim leaned back without loosening his hold. 

"You're _not_ sure, are you?" Blair's grip tightened, and he kept his face averted. 

"Blair?" He hadn't intended to whisper, but maybe it was for the best. Blair wouldn't meet his eyes. "Hey." Jim coaxed, slowly. 

"...should have known...not like I can hide anything...what if I was wrong...damn it, how is this ever going to work...be left with nothing..." 

This between heartbeats that were strong, but a little on the fast side of steady. There was anger, too, all self-directed, but resolute. Okay, this he could handle. Simple really. Anxiety: pure and undisguised. He leaned back in to where the closeness was a tangible thing, warm and significant. 

"You're right, you can't hide." 

"Like I said, should have known better than to even try." 

"Well, yeah. You should have. But let's put that aside for now. What were you trying to hide?" 

There was more muttering, so muffled that even Jim couldn't make it out. Then again, Jim was firmly planted in the middle of normal hearing range, normal everything. More than a few seconds with everything on heightened alert while this close to Blair and he was a goner. A happy, blissed out, goner, but a goner just the same. He couldn't enjoy his homecoming if he was unconscious, and he had every intention of enjoying it, right after they cleared up this little matter of his roommate's insecurity. 

"Say it, Blair. Once you've said it, I can tell you you're wrong. But you need to say it." 

"I think too much." The bitter edge had faded, for which Jim was glad. 

"Yeah, you do. Even about how to admit that you've been freaking out while I was gone. Can't just ask if I meant what I said, can't just say you're scared. Have to fake left and look right with 'I think too much'." 

"Yeah, but you knew. Don't I get credit for that?" 

Jim thought he felt a smile where Blair's face was pressing into his shoulder. He waited a beat, then tuned in to his sense of touch. Yes, definitely a smile. 

"You don't need credit, not with me. You need to know that you're right, you think too much. And you worry too much. It _was_ real. It _is_ real. I came home to you: you asked, I promised, and I came home to you." 

"I wasn't wrong?" 

"Only to doubt it." Jim slipped his arms higher on Blair's back, fingers slipped into the heavy luxury of his hair. "I love you. There is no way I stopped doing in four days what I've been doing for four years." 

Blair gasped, finally lifting his head. "No way. No fucking way in hell." 

"Face it, Chief. As a skill repression, has its benefits. You didn't have a clue. You weren't supposed to have a clue." 

"Man, I am so glad you're on my side. I mean with the good guys." 

"I know what you meant. I'm willing to be on any side of you, you want." Jim burrowed his nose into the juncture of Blair's neck and shoulder and eased his lips up until he found an ear. His voice was rough and deep when he added, "Any side at all, or all sides. All sides, all the time." 

"You mean--" 

"You have me, Blair." 

"Have you." Jim nodded as Blair considered the words. "You know, don't you--?" Blair began. 

"I know." Blair's mouth felt right this time, giving back, searching deeply, meeting Jim's love. 

"Is that all you want?" Blair whispered against his lips, the friction tempting. 

"Well, no." His lips pressed in again, anyway, but he broke away before long. "I want to stretch out on the couch and get lost--in the smell, heat and feel of you. Listen to your heartbeat, which I missed almost as much as the sound of your voice." 

"I love you." 

He'd said it. Always there to see, it was more than a look now. He skimmed his fingers over Blair's cheek. "You're sure?" 

"I'm sure." 

~End~ 

* * *

End Have You by Cinel Durant: cineld@yahoo.com

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